


Searching for the Sun

by sailec



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Character Study, Finn-centric, Gen, Pre-Relationship, set during their escape from the First Order, some vaguely implied past Finn/Slip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 10:02:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13432365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailec/pseuds/sailec
Summary: “You gonna be okay?” the pilot breaks the silence, and FN-2187 startles, staring at the man in front of him, trying to process the expression on his face.





	Searching for the Sun

He's still soaked in sweat, the soft fabric of his clothes sticking to his skin under the hard shell of the Stormtrooper armor, his heart beating harder than he's ever experienced before in his life. He knows the Captain is already suspicious – knows what she thinks, what she's ordered, her cold voice behind her helmet on repeat at the back of his mind, like a worm digging in under his skin and traveling up his spine, he  _shivers_  with the knowledge of what they will do to him if he goes back.

For all the times he's toed the line of what's acceptable, he's never had to face the punishment for something this severe before; the failure of an unfired blaster after his first mission as a full-fledged Stormtrooper.

There's no getting out of this one, not this time. He can't work his way around disapproval from his superiors over the way he went about completing his objective when he never actually  _did_  it. His blaster didn't fire, and no one died by his hand.

And this time it wasn't a training simulation.

This time it was reality, the explosion rocking their ship as they took off and wiping away every last trace of the village just as real as Slip's dead body staying left behind to burn into nothingness.

FN-2187's one opportunity to prove himself worthy of a title matching his skills, and he couldn't even get his whole team out of there alive. The one time it really counted, when 'death' on the battlefield equated something even worse than reconditioning, and he couldn't protect Slip.

How many times has he managed to run back for him, to keep the same thing from happening during their training?

The memory of Slip's bloodied hand reaching out for him stings sharper in his chest than any shot he's ever taken at practice, and FN-2187 feels his hands tremble where he's standing in the small space with the Resistance pilot, where he pulled them into after freeing him, hurriedly asking for the information he needed before the pilot eagerly agreed they'll make a run for it; for freedom.

At least he knows for sure it's the right decision now. All the times he's wanted to leave and immediately told himself he didn't really  _mean_  it are gone for good, he knows that now. There's nothing left for him here, and he's not going back to hear what they intend to do to him, how they plan to wipe his mind to make him able to easier kill for them next time.

He won't let them, or he'll die refusing.

He takes a deep breath to regain his composure, and the man standing across from him lifts an eyebrow, black curls of his hair a mess and blood still smeared on his cheek from his wounds, faint blue bruises littered around his left eye from the fighting and – whatever else has been done to him. FN-2187's lost track of how much time must have passed since they first touched down back at the  _Finalizer_  and he watched the pilot get hauled away, until he saw Kylo Ren himself make his way to the cell.

He quickly squeezes his eyes shut at the memory of the masked man furiously walking past him in the long hallways of the ship,  _don't think his name_ , idiot, what if he can  _hear_? Don't  _think_.

“You gonna be okay?” the pilot breaks the silence, and FN-2187 startles, staring at the man in front of him, trying to process the expression on his face. Such a weird thing to ask with the way he said it, tone of his voice far from an accusation, nothing like he's used to hearing it; not like when you know there's only one answer, because not being okay has never been an option.

“Of course,” he says quickly, feeling defensive as he tightens the grip on his helmet. In the cool blue light and under the man's concerned gaze he's suddenly all too aware of how bare he is, face exposed and vulnerable, but he's not some little helpless boy who's never had to face hardships or needed to get himself out of a problem before.

He's seen worse, lived through worse.

Maybe nothing as scary as planning an escape from the organization who raised him, who have fed him nothing but promises of their absolute power and dominance of the whole galaxy his entire life, but the stranger he's relying on to get them both out of here doesn't need to know that.

The pilot's still watching him, eyes too intent on his, and FN-2187 forces himself not to visibly squirm. Even with their helmets off no one really  _looks_  at each other for too long around here, not in the calm way that seems to come so naturally to this guy. “...You been here your whole life?” the man says, squinting his eyes at him, as if contemplating. “These guys – aren't exactly known for recruiting happy volunteers most of the time.”

'These guys'.

Not 'you guys'.

Because FN-2187 is no longer part of them, it's  _them_ , he's on the other side looking in now, the decision finalized, no way of turning back. In a moment he'll walk right out of here and either die or become a free man, and he really does feel like throwing up, but in the best way possible.

He's really doing it, the one thing he never thought could be an option.

For a moment, his mind flashes to the green leaves of the jungles out there in the universe, memories of squinting up at the sun after having his helmet pulled off by a lizard-monkey and feeling the fresh unfiltered air coming through his lungs fluttering something wild and unrestrained in his chest. ( _Longing_ , he thinks). He thinks of animals running free, people owning homes, about walking steps without following a line, and doing whatever he wants whenever he wants because  _he_  wants to do it.

He thinks of how close it is at hand, and, certainty so strong in his chest he feels it physically  _ache_ , he thinks,  _I'd die for that_.

There's no chance of it happening if someone comes back and finds the prisoner missing, though.

“Look,” he says to the pilot, because they don't have time to stand around having a heartfelt conversation about his upbringing. “We need to hurry.”

Just because it's worth dying for doesn't mean he  _wants_  to die.

“Course.” The pilot gives a quick nod, determination back on his face. “So what's our plan?”

He's not used to going against what he's supposed to be doing and actually have people  _agree_  with him, certainly not others wanting to be  _in_  on it, but the guy's right – they're two about this, two lives at stake, both of them knowing it can't get any worse than staying here, despite their different reasons for thinking so. They're doing this together.

He swallows. They can do this. It will work, it  _has_  to work. “I'm just a trooper escorting you past the hangar,” he says. “I'll get you to a TIE fighter, from there it's up to you to get us out before we're blown up.”

“That'll work? You just walking past all of them with me at your side?”

...He doesn't know.

Had he been promoted already there wouldn't have been any doubt about it, but now he never did – and never will – reach an official title. Something he's sure he'll find time to be thankful for later, but right now it certainly would've made things easier than just marching by with the prisoner everyone knows is here when he's in his old regular standard armor.

Then again, even after what he did – or didn't – do back at the village, Captain Phasma, as ruthless as she is, sent him away to get cleaned up instead of forcing him straight to reconditioning, because reporting back to her he was determined to convince her he had calmed down enough it wouldn't pose a problem for her. He's gotten away with lots of things he was never allowed to do in his life by simply being good enough it didn't effect the outcome.

“It'll work,” he says, voice confident enough he almost convinces himself to fully trust it. He lifts his helmet, about to put it on when the prisoner stops him.

“Hey,” he says.

“...Yeah?”

The man grins, wide and joyous like this is all so exciting, like happiness is something you can just feel unrestrained, even in a situation like this, his eyes twinkling with adventure. FN-2187 didn't even know a person could  _have_  eyes like that, so bright with life and just a bit mischievous, despite what he's just been through. He thinks of Slip's green eyes, dull and worn after once more shaking off his helping arm, not looking at him, gaze trained to the floor back in the barracks as he muttered, “ _You shouldn't have done that_ ,” in one of the rare moments they had to themselves, both of them clinging tightly to each other in a hug before Slip pushed him off, turning away and turning in on himself, shutting FN-2187 out.

There's not a trace of any of that in this guy, though, no sign of being too aware of his own emotions. Maybe it's a Resistance thing; maybe it's just the positive effects of being a free man.

He can't wait to find out, the thought mixing in with the clamped down panic in his chest, making it all swirl together into a hazy blur, his mind a fog of contradicting feelings he can't properly navigate through.

“Good luck,” the pilot says and lifts his still hand-cuffed hands, taking hold of FN-2187's forearm and squeezing. FN-2187 almost startles at the contact, but instead of unpleasant and unexpected, it feels... comforting. Familiar. “And whatever's 'bout to happen, just know you have my thanks.”

He hasn't even gotten them anywhere yet; for all the pilot knows he might as well have doomed them both to a fate worse than death. If they get caught he has no idea what would happen to them, what lengths they would go to in order to punish them. Maybe they would have settled for killing the prisoner quickly once they were done with him before, and now FN-2187 has traded it all for the long slow torture of –

_No_.

It won't happen because these people are never putting a hand on either of them again.

He gives a sharp nod in response and finally pulls his helmet back on, shuffling his shoulders a little straighter before he grips the pilot's upper arm, and lifts his blaster to point it at him.

“Let's do this.”

“Oh yeah,” the guy grins wide again, “and hey. Just breathe and go easy. I'm right here next to ya.”

Hidden behind the helmet the guy can't tell he's staring, FN-2187 giving him one last long look.

And beyond the excitement, the adrenaline and kindness he sees in the man, in his presence FN-2187 feels an overwhelming sense of something he's only caught glimpses of before, something he's tried to cling so tightly to his whole life, despite the people around him doing their best to cut it off as quickly and efficiently as dumping trash out into space as soon as they've spotted it.

Hope.

True and all-consuming  _hope_ , like the unfiltered air outside, something just there, something allowed to be, all around them to be appreciated by everyone.

For the first time since he can't remember when, he has no second-thoughts, feels no guilt attached to it, just the pure belief there's so much more ahead of him, his future not some gray fog of uncertainty, filled with dull thoughts of climbing through the ranks in hopes of being able to do whatever he wants one day, despite knowing deep down he's never been willing to actually do what it takes to  _get_ there to begin with, no matter how high expectations he's had put on his shoulders to get the titles he technically could reach.

In this moment the man next to him is so much more than a prisoner needing help, more than a pilot to get him out of here; he's a promise and assurance there are other people just like FN-2187, those who feel the same way he does, who agree compassion and kindness has never been something to drown out, not a part of himself he needs to kill and crush to be who he truly is, but something to embrace.

He still has no idea what he's doing, how this will end, but he knows there's a whole galaxy out there, a world filled with people who aren't the ones in here, of those brave enough to go against everything evil for the sake of doing what's right, of people smiling whenever because they're allowed to, of those with life and excitement in their eyes, and FN-2187's coming for all of it.

He clings a little tighter to the arm of this man he's just met, who he somehow knows he can trust with his life, he just  _knows_  it; there's something about him, something about this whole situation, making him feel so certain, as if this is what he was always supposed to be doing, his whole life leading up to this moment.

With one last deep breath, he steels himself.

Then he takes the first step back towards the hangar, the pilot at his side, and hopes with all his heart it's not the last thing they ever do.


End file.
